


otherworldly creature

by kitschy



Series: and in short measures, life may perfect be [2]
Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Fluff, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:07:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26784142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitschy/pseuds/kitschy
Summary: "Sometimes I do not believe you are real."
Relationships: Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera
Series: and in short measures, life may perfect be [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956127
Comments: 12
Kudos: 31





	otherworldly creature

**Author's Note:**

> soooo this was gonna be a multi-chapter fic that was actually a drabble collection but then i remembered you can make a SERIES so that's what i'm doing

Erik is trying, in earnest, to focus on his work, but he is not quite used to Christine's presence. It has been three months since she muttered _you stupid man_ and kissed him by surprise, and only one since she first led him to bed, holding both his shaking hands; granted, her presence has had an arresting affect on him for far longer than that, but now that he is allowed to touch her, any distance between them is a distractingly tangible thing. Every errant curl begs to be tucked back. Every absentminded shifting of her hands makes his fingers twitch, longing to be entwined with hers.

At this moment, she sits a few inches away from him on the sofa, doing research for the new production— _Carmen_ , which means that for once, her soaring soprano voice keeps her out of the lead role. Still, she is charmingly excited to play Micaëla, and has spent over an hour Googling this and that about early-nineteenth-century Seville. In the glow of a nearby lamp, her face, slightly angled towards him, is suffused with warmth. A line of light across her cheekbone. The swoop of her eyelashes a captivating light brown. As richly colored, as fancifully artful, as an oil painting in a gilt frame. 

"Christine," he says, almost on instinct.

And how thrilling it is to _feel_ her attention shift to him. "Yeah? Everything okay?" Her eyes move over his visible features as she tries to catalogue his expression, to understand him, and oh, to be seen, it is the closest he will ever come to understanding her love of the spotlight.

"Sometimes I do not believe you are real," he says, without planning on it.

This amuses her as much as it puzzles her. "Are you kidding?"

“I am being a little facetious. But if you were to wave a hand—“ he flutters his fingers demonstratively—"and things started floating, I would not question it. Or if you came to me one day by emerging from the lake. Or if I were rowing across it and heard your voice from beneath the water…”

“Oh, yeah, the famous underground opera lake creature. That’s me.” Perhaps to help him confirm her existence, she curls against his side, taking his arm and draping it around her. Ah: she always feels a little smaller than he expects. When she is onstage, eyes aflame, voice reverberating strong enough to fill the galaxy, he wants to live in her shadow, but when she asks to be held, a strange protective instinct overtakes him.

“I am obviously referring to a siren," he says dryly, but tightens his hold, keeps her snug.

“Maybe I am one, and I’ve already dragged you to the depths, and you’re hallucinating now.”

“A pleasant fate, really.” Without fully removing his arm from around her, he pinches a coffee-dark curl between his fingers, lifts it, and narrows his eyes as he studies it, imagining it crumbling to gold dust. “I have called you an angel before, and in some moments, I believe you are one." _I_ _'m here, Erik, I'm right here,_ her words breaking his nightmares as Moses broke the sea. Ah, but given the other ways she chases his terrors away, he is probably being blasphemous. "But as otherworldly creatures go," he adds—for divine as she is, blasphemy makes Christine laugh—"I wonder what God would think about your behavior.”

“You have no idea!” She places a hand in half-joking suggestion on his thigh, snickering a little. “I’m like, on probation. They’re threatening to kick me out of the ranks.”

“My goodness." Erik can feel her shoulders shake with the laughter, and the corner of his mouth twitches up. "Have I gotten you into so much trouble as that?”

“Don’t worry about it.” She turns her head just enough to beam directly up at him. “I like it better down here.”

“Really.” When she nods, the tip of her nose brushes his, and though he cannot really feel it through the mask, it makes him jarringly aware of her closeness all over again, her knee pressed to his, her hand very nearly at his hip, the promise of a kiss blooming suddenly between their mouths. The force of her magic takes hold, and it takes a moment to realize he is leaning in. “In that case,” he murmurs, “we had best get you thrown out for good. What do you say, _petit ange?”_

She climbs on top of him by way of response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: (pretentious writer voice) well HORACE says to begin "in medias res," or "in the middle of things," when the conflict of your story is already happening. that way you guarantee the reader's attention and cut unnecessary exposition.  
> also me: talk abt how beautiful christine daaé is for 2 paragraphs before actually beginning any action
> 
> and yes i know i shouldn't write "petit ange" in french because everything i've written in english is technically them speaking french but while "petit ange" may MEAN "little angel" literally, the vibes... are not quite the same... the energy of the pet name is different... lowkey has daddy kink vibes in english, is more normal in french. also i can do what i want

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed! i have trouble keeping things short


End file.
